


double helix

by bellafarallones



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, References to Oviposition, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel, court seer indrid time travels to help the pine guard, discussion of a questionable piece of erotica, positive self-talk, this is pretty horny sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellafarallones/pseuds/bellafarallones
Summary: Indrid complains about the difficulty of not being able to be in two places at once. Silvain turns out to have a sense of humor.
Relationships: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton, indrid cold/indrid cold/duck newton
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

Duck only very vaguely understood the biology of this month’s abomination, and even that much put him solidly ahead of most of the people in the room. But they’d worked out that it had a weakness to soap, and Kepler had a car wash. You can probably guess where this is going. 

“I’ve been in the control room of the Super Buff,” said Jake Coolice, because for some godforsaken reason that was the name of the car wash. “The visibility isn’t good. Like, you can’t see the actual part where cars drive in from the place where all the buttons are.”

“So we need Indrid,” said Aubrey. 

“But Indrid’s already doing air support to find the thing in the first place,” said Duck.

“I’m not flying through town to get to the car wash,” said Indrid. He had his chair tilted dangerously far back, his feet on the table, and a sketchbook in his lap, in which he was drawing something definitely not related to the mission. “This would be easier if I could be in two places at once.”

“Yep,” said Duck. 

The front legs of Indrid’s chair returned to the ground with a loud  _ thunk _ . “Oh,  _ no,”  _ he said, tossing his notebook onto the table. _ “ _ I need to get to the gate.”

“What?” said Mama, but Indrid was already out the back door. He’d thrown his glasses off, too, and was in the air almost before they’d hit the ground.

The Pine Guard looked around at each other. Duck picked up Indrid’s glasses and folded them into the front pocket of his shirt.

“He definitely would have told us if it was something really bad, right?” said Barclay.

Duck shrugged. Everyone was looking at him, now, like he was supposed to be some kind of Indrid expert just because he was sleeping with the guy. 

Mama stood up and got her rifle out of the cabinet. “Let’s go find out.”

The forest didn’t seem to be on fire, so that was something. But a couple of branches around the gate were broken, as though there’d been a struggle, and Duck’s flashlight illuminated… two identical moth-people, one pinning the other to the ground with a knee to the throat.

“Unhand me at once!” said the one on the bottom. Indrid? Though Indrid had never sounded so… haughty. “I am on a mission from Silvain.”

“I know. Silvain must have a real sense of humor, because you’ve been sent to help us.” The other moth-person  _ also  _ sounded like Indrid. “And you’re going to do as I say.”

The moth-person on the ground’s antennae lowered, in what Duck knew was a gesture of submission. “Yes.”

“Good.” The one on top helped the other moth-person to his feet and they stood side-by-side, truly  _ identical,  _ the same eyes and four arms and black wings. 

“Holy shit,” said Duck.

“So this is me from the past,” said the Indrid on the right. 

“Well, this solves the two-places-at-once problem,” said Mama.

“How are we supposed to tell you apart?” said Aubrey. “Different hats?”

“ _ What?”  _ said present Indrid. “We look nothing alike, he doesn’t even have his tertiary moult yet - oh, fuck, that’s only visible under UV.”

Past Indrid twitched. “There’s gonna be - a fire -”

“I know. Forget about it.”

“But -”

Indrid’s hand tightened on his younger self’s shoulders, claws digging into his feathers. “Let me tell you something it took me a long time to learn: you cannot prevent disaster here. Silvain is a child’s sandpit compared to this planet.”

“But -” said past Indrid, even more urgently.

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“So,” said Aubrey gamely. “How many years in the past are we talking? When are you from?”

“It’s the seventy-fourth year of the interpretership of Caracella,” said young Indrid.

“So it’s been three hundred years, or so,” supplied Barclay.

“Thanks,” said old Indrid. “I haven’t been keeping good track.”

“So are you, like, a child?” said Aubrey.

“Of course not. I have been the court seer for over a decade now.” He turned to old Indrid. “And I’m curious to know what  _ you  _ did to get  _ exiled.”  _

Old Indrid’s feathers fluffed up a little bit in offense.

“Alright, now,” said Mama. “I’ve had enough trouble over the years getting along with one of you. Let’s get back to the lodge and work out our plan.”

Walking back through the woods, Duck fell into step beside his Indrid: he was keeping close track of which was which, because he  _ really  _ couldn’t tell them apart. A few paces behind them Barclay had launched into what Duck guessed was the same speech he gave every new Sylph through the gate. 

“Hey,” whispered Duck finally, offering up the glasses he’d brought with him from the lodge.

Indrid shook his head. “This is weird,” he whispered back, but he didn’t take the glasses, or Duck’s hand like he normally would. Was his past self dating someone else?

Two moth-people made Mama’s office very crowded. Old Indrid sat down on the couch next to Duck, since his moth-body didn’t fit in the chair he’d been sitting in before. Young Indrid stood somewhat stiffly in the corner, both sets of hands clasped together. 

“Shouldn’t you two being in the same room create a time paradox, or something?” said Aubrey.

“The atoms that make up our bodies do not care where they are in spacetime,” said young Indrid. 

“The thing I don’t understand,” said old Indrid contemplatively, “is that I don’t remember this. I don’t remember coming to the future.” 

“Maybe Silvain wiped your memory,” young Indrid said. He seized a whiteboard marker, uncapped it, and paused. Then he raised it to his face. 

Old Indrid laughed. “Yeah, lots of fun smells on this planet. Anyway. I think it’s more likely we’re from different timelines.”

Young Indrid stood erect, one arm folded behind his back like a lecturer, and drew a straight line on the whiteboard. “We could be from the same timeline and you had your memory wiped, or are lying for some reason.” Then he drew two parallel lines that curved to intersect before returning to parallel. 

“A single crossover of two parallel timelines,” said old Indrid.

“Where you never traveled forwards, because when I get to your position I will know how to solve this problem without needing a past self to help me,” said young Indrid. Then he drew what looked like a vertical corkscrew. “Or, if you take the view that time is fundamentally cyclic -”

“- _ you  _ could really be from the future and I’m really from the past, but you’re from an earlier position on a future iteration of the timeline.”

“Precisely,” said young Indrid.

At that moment Barclay reappeared with a spare bracelet in his hand. Duck had been too busy watching the two Indrids to notice that he’d been gone. “You’re going to need a human disguise,” Barclay said. 

“What are the beauty standards on this planet?” said young Indrid. 

“Ooo!” said Aubrey, pulling out her phone. “I can show you some Instagram models!”

While young Indrid leaned over her shoulder to look, old Indrid finally took his glasses back from Duck and put them on. Narrow and human again, he looped his arm through Duck’s. 

Young Indrid looked up from Aubrey’s phone. “So why did you make yourself ugly?”

Duck felt Indrid tense against him. “Rude,” said Duck.

Young Indrid’s gaze lingered on Duck a beat too long. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. Then he took the bracelet Barclay had offered, stared at it for a moment, and then slipped it on.

Aubrey burst out laughing. “You look like if Gerard Way was a Republican!”

He did, that was the thing. A blazer over a black mesh garment that could only generously be called a shirt, nipples fully on display, and tight black jeans. Something about his face was uncanny, too perfect, like it’d been photoshopped. Now, though, he folded his arms across his chest, embarrassed, and looked to his older self. “Will you make me look good, then? Better than you do?”

Old Indrid held his hand out, and young Indrid tossed him the bracelet, shaking out his feathers once he’d returned to himself. 

Old Indrid thought for a moment, gripping the bracelet tightly, and then threw it back. Young Indrid slipped it on. Now he looked like a younger version of Indrid’s normal human form, but significantly less gaunt, a bit more muscle on his shoulders, and he wore a button-down shirt patterned with sepia-tone moths.

“Ooo!” said Aubrey.

Young Indrid looked down at himself. “I want more jewelry.”

Eventually they found an outfit he was satisfied with, and explained the plan. Young Indrid would stay in the car wash control center with Jake, who claimed he knew how to turn the jets on, and Aubrey, who had been banned from the first part of the fight due to the potential for forest fires. 

“You can stay the night here if you want,” said Mama when people started yawning. 

“I’d rather keep an eye on him,” said old Indrid.

“You can both stay at my place, if you like,” said Duck. “It’s roomier than the ‘bago.”

“Are you sure?” said old Indrid.

“Whatever you want,” said young Indrid. 

“Sure,” said Duck. 

It was a little awkward, getting into Duck’s car with one Indrid in the front seat next to him and another in the back. “Can we stop at the Winnebago first to pick up some stuff?” said old Indrid softly. 

“Sure,” said Duck.

Old Indrid turned around in his seat. “This is Duck. He’s my boyfriend.” Young Indrid nodded but did not comment. Old Indrid got out of the car when they reached the Winnebago. “Come with me,” he said to his younger self. “I need help carrying stuff.” 

“This is where you live? It’s a shithole!” said young Indrid as he struggled to get his seatbelt undone

“And you don’t have any friends,” old Indrid said coldly, “so don’t get too cocky.”

They disappeared into the Winnebago, and Duck put his head down on the steering wheel. Why were they being so mean to each other? He was also wondering about the implications of young Indrid’s submissive body language, especially since he’d only ever seen it before on his Indrid in one particular, mutually-enjoyable context. Questions to ask when he got one or the other of them alone.

The two Indrids came out of the Winnebago with a duffel bag and a stack of books and got back into the car. “Thank you,” said old Indrid to no one in particular. 

They got back to Duck’s apartment. Old Indrid gave young Indrid a new notebook and pen. “Here. This should keep you sane. Will you be offended if I test the single-timeline theory?”

“Go right ahead.” They were both back in Sylph form now.

Old Indrid went to the kitchen and took a knife out of the knife block. Young Indrid followed obligingly and stood still while old Indrid pressed the blade to his throat. “Well, if I kill you I won’t disappear.”

“Cross the single-timeline theory off the list,” said young Indrid.

Old Indrid put the knife back, opened the fridge, and took out a carton of eggnog. “Allow me to introduce you to one of Earth’s greatest joys.” He got two glasses out of the cupboard and filled them both to exactly the same level. 

The two Indrids clinked their glasses together and drank deeply, in exactly the same motion. It was eerie, like a mirror in the middle of the kitchen, two moth-people with their wings held at the same angle, their fingers wrapped around their glasses in precisely the same way. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been rude to you,” they both said simultaneously. Then - “Oh, it’s alright.”

“Shall we sit down?” said old Indrid. His gaze met Duck’s, and suddenly Duck remembered that he was here, too, not an invisible watcher of this tableau, and stumbled over himself to get to the couch. Old Indrid sat down next to him, put one right arm around his shoulders and another around his waist, and young Indrid took the chair across the room, folding his long legs in a way that was painfully familiar. “So how was your day, Duck?”

“Oh. Uh. Good. Comparatively boring.” He honestly didn’t get a chance to look at Indrid’s sylph form as often as he’d like to, and having  _ two  _ right in front of him was somewhat distracting. “I bet y’all have a lot of, uh, fun memories in common.”

“Hm,” said old Indrid. “Do you remember the red book?” 

Young Indrid looked up. “I do.”

“It’s been years since I’ve read it. I was wondering, since you’ve seen it more recently, if you could refresh my memory on some of the finer points.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Just that we talk about it. We don’t have to.”

Duck looked from one Indrid to another. He didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but he recognized something playful in the tone of his Indrid’s voice.

Young Indrid closed his eyes. “So Salis starts his training as a seer.”

“Oh, I think we can skip to the good part. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Ah. Yes. So he’s in the hallway with that girl - didn’t  _ she  _ have a bedroom, by the way? Why would she want to have a tryst there?”

“And the depiction of oral sex is totally inaccurate.”

Duck was starting to see why old Indrid found this conversation appealing. 

“I suspected so.” Young Indrid’s voice sped up as he continued. “Anyway, Salis feels an iron grip on his upper upper arm, clings to his girlfriend with his other arms, but he’s dragged out of the darkness into the light, feet scrabbling on the marble -”

“- like the world itself was slipping away, I remembered that for how terrible of a simile it was.”

Young Indrid laughed. “Yes. And then his master drags him through the main hall, wings flapping.”

“One time I grabbed a mosquito by the leg here on earth when it was biting me and that’s what I thought of.”

“Also absolutely unrealistic. A moth-person would be too strong to be dragged like that.”

“You’d be surprised,” said old Indrid, perhaps thinking of chains and an evil tree. 

Young Indrid’s gaze darted between Duck and his older self. “The important part is that everyone sees him. Still unsheathed, dripping, exposed. Face hot, humiliated and trying not to cry.”

Old Indrid nodded. 

“He ends up in his master’s office office with the velvet carpet - which, impossible to clean much?” Young Indrid laughed nervously. “His master screams at him while he’s standing there with his cock twitching, for violating the seer’s oath. And he says ‘what, are you finally seeing the future? Is that why you’re still aroused? You’re seeing yourself crawling back to your bunk to rut into your hand?’”

“It was ‘rut against your pillows.’” 

“It definitely isn’t.”

"Yes it is! I've been jerking off remembering that line for three hundred years, I think I'd know how it went!"

“You’re not the one who was looking at it literally last night!”

“Pillows is so much sexier, anyway! It suggests a certain… impotence, or inexperience, not even knowing how to touch oneself properly. And then to sleep with your head on that pillow, smelling the evidence of your own arousal?” Old Indrid spoke with the utmost seriousness, like he was arguing a point in court.

Duck broke down laughing, and the two Indrids turned to look at him. “What if y’all are from alternate timelines and this one erotica line is the only difference between them?”

“It’s not erotica,” said young Indrid, though Duck noticed that his legs were firmly crossed, his lower arms folded over where the evidence of his arousal would be visible. “It’s a cautionary tale about a seer who strays from the path. You’re… not meant to get off on the sexual torture.”

“Really?”

Both Indrids nodded. “It was assigned reading, when we were in training.”

“Do you think the author got off on it?” said old Indrid.

Young Indrid lowered his gaze. “I hadn’t thought about it, but now that you mention it…”

“His master gets off-topic pretty quickly.”

“Yes. Makes Salis keep touching himself in front of him, calls him a - a whore. Says he’s not special, that his girlfriend is just using him for sex and could have anyone else in the castle just as easily.”

“I hate that line.”

“Really? It doesn’t bother me.”

Old Indrid shook his head. “I know Salis also gets beaten - how does it transition into it? And what’s it with? I’m fuzzy on that part.”

“He asks his master why he won’t just punish him normally. And so his master makes him bend over the desk and hits him with a ruler. Limited choice of implement in an office, you know.” 

“Could you even feel something like that? You know, with the feathers?” said Duck.

“It takes more force,” said old Indrid. “But the impact is more… diffuse than when you have skin.”

“Is it?” said young Indrid.

“Oh, that’s right,” said old Indrid. “You haven’t.”

“No. I haven’t.” Young Indrid hurried to continue. “Anyway, his dick’s dragging on the desk as he squirms and he comes like that, all over himself, his feathers. And his master makes him stand up and he - rubs it in.” 

“People here don’t have the same taboo about feathers,” said Old Indrid.

“Really?”

“What taboo?” said Duck.

“Coming on someone’s feathers is one of the filthiest things you can do,” young Indrid explained. “It’s - I suppose it has something to do with the trouble of cleaning it, and how obvious it is afterwards that the feathers have been de-oiled.”

“Oh.” Duck thought of the times he’d run his slick fingers across Indrid’s wings, Indrid’s own spend beading on his shimmering feathers. “You never told me that.”

Young Indrid smirked, and unthinkingly uncrossed his legs, so Duck could see the slick line appearing between his feathers, betraying his arousal. “If you didn’t tell him about that, did you tell him about -”

“No. Nope. We’re not talking about that.”

Duck looked from one to the other. “Not telling me about what?”

“Just a weird moth-person biology thing.”

Young Indrid kept his mouth shut. 

Old Indrid cleared his throat. “Anyway, we should start thinking about dinner.”

\-- 

They’d been in bed for a while, but Duck could tell that Indrid - his Indrid, the old Indrid - was still awake. 

“I have a theoretical question,” said Duck quietly. “Is having sex with yourself essentially masturbation? Or does it get into incest territory?”

Indrid turned to face him, glasses glinting in the dim light. “Why, Duck,” he said with false innocence, his hand coming to rest lightly, suggestively, on Duck’s thigh. “Do you want to watch? Or perhaps indulge in a two-Indrid threesome?”

Duck leaned in and kissed him. “What can I say? I guess I just can’t get enough of you.” They kissed some more, then, until Indrid was tugging on Duck’s hips and Duck hauled himself up until Indrid was underneath him, kissed him until he was gasping. 

Indrid’s desperate openness gave him an idea. “Hey, Indrid?”

“Hm?” said Indrid, disarmed. 

“What’s the weird moth-person biology thing you hadn’t told me about?”

Indrid sighed. “We lay eggs. Well, we can.”

“What does that mean?”

“We have to eat a specific kind of fruit to trigger egg production and on Silvain that fruit only grows in one season and on Earth it doesn’t grow at all. So it’s not something you have to worry about.”

Worry. Yeah. That’s what Duck’s first thought was. 

Indrid stroked his hair away from his face. “One time in the eighties I accidentally triggered it by eating too much pineapple. That was an interesting week.”

“Oh?”

“It was a  _ lot  _ of pineapple. More than a reasonable person would eat.” Indrid sighed. “And now I know not to do that again.”

Duck had follow-up questions, but Indrid’s clear lack of enthusiasm made him hold his tongue. “Thank you for telling me.”

Indrid hugged him tight, one of those hugs that knocked the breath out of him and reminded him that his boyfriend was significantly stronger than he looked. “Thank you for being okay with all the weirdness. I know you aren’t into that kind of thing.”

That wasn’t quite true, but Duck didn’t know how to articulate it. “I’ve found I like weirdness a lot more when it’s yours.”

In the morning Duck woke up to the bed empty, but still warm from where Indrid had been lying. He stumbled out of his room still half-asleep and saw Indrid, mothed-out, standing in front of the open fridge. Coming up behind him he rested his head on Indrid’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around him.

A chirp of surprise. 

“What’s up?” Duck rubbed his cheek against the feathers.

“Oh, I’m -” Indrid squeaked. “I’m not your Indrid.”

Duck jumped back. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I really can’t tell you apart, I should have - fuck, I’m real sorry about that.”

Young Indrid turned around. Both sets of hands were clasped together, fidgeting nervously. “Oh, you don’t have to apologize. It’s - I don’t mind, you’re very attractive. Um. Never mind.”

Duck blinked. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” said Indrid, voice far too raw.

“What’s your life like?”

Indrid sighed and closed the fridge. “You realize, Duck, that I don’t know you.”

Duck looked at his feet. Of course. This Indrid had never had their first kiss, no stargazing dates in Monongahela, even if he spoke with the voice Duck knew so well. “I’m - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, I - I trust you. Because. Because of him. How happy he is.” Indrid sighed. “I didn’t think it was _possible_ for me to be that happy.”

“Oh.”

“I’m the court seer. I suppose he’s told you that much. I have an office that’s too big and empty to keep warm in the winter with a big desk and tiny windows and I sit at my desk and draw whatever I see. If it’s anything interesting, which isn’t often, I’m supposed to bring it down to the interpreter. I’m not supposed to think about it, which is a problem because I do.” He hugged himself, tapped his clawed fingers on his upper arms. “Other than that I’m quite good at my job.”

Duck thought about Indrid alone in a cavernous office, Indrid who had chosen to spend years in a cramped RV. “...do you need a hug?”

“Please,” said Indrid, and Duck wrapped his arms around him. This Indrid hugged back tentatively, as though Duck was something fragile he was afraid of breaking.

“Hey,” came a gentle voice from the hallway. “Can I get in on this?” Old Indrid touched Duck’s back, hands cold and human, and young Indrid opened his arms again. Then they were all just holding each other, Indrid’s strong sylph arms and his narrow human ones, the sharp edge of red glasses pressed against soft feathers. 

“I understand now why my hugs have gotten good reviews,” old Indrid said finally.

“Thanks,” said young Indrid.

“I love you,” said old Indrid. “And you’re gonna do amazing.” He pulled back just enough to rub at his eyes underneath his glasses. “Fuck. I’m guessing this isn’t what Aubrey was talking about when she recommended positive self-talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in chapter 2 they have a threesome. i dont think im gonna write the actual carwash caper (sorry) and im definitely not gonna write young indrid going back through the portal because i can't figure out how to do it without it being sad


	2. part 2: the 3some

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i understand you were promised a threesome?

They were meeting up with the rest of the Pine Guard that night, when the car wash was closed and they could break in under cover of darkness, and so Duck spent most of the afternoon working on a model ship. When he finally ventured out into the kitchen, his fingers were tacky with glue and most of a rigging had emerged from the chaos of balsa wood. 

The two Indrids were in the living room, on the couch. One of them was drawing, and the other was leaning against him, staring into space. “Hello,” said the Indrid with the sketchbook. “How’s the shipbuilding?”

“Good,” said Duck. “How’re the futures?”

“Mm. Salacious,” said the other Indrid. 

“It’s only a possibility,” said the first Indrid. “We don’t have to-”

The other Indrid interrupted him. “He’s never done oral and the futures where you allow him to practice on you are compelling.” Presumably, then, this was the older Indrid.

Compelling. Yeah. Duck could imagine how it would be. “I’ve never actually had a threesome before. I don’t know how it’s supposed to work.”

“I think it’s sort of a choose-your-own-adventure thing,” said old Indrid. There was a moment’s pause.

“Alright. I’m gonna wash the glue off my hands, and then… uh.”

“Shall we make out for your entertainment?” said old Indrid. “I saw that in a porno once.” Young Indrid’s arm was already curling around him possessively. 

“Alright, alright, I’m washing as fast as I can!” Duck looked down to scrub his nails, and when he looked up again the two Indrids had changed positions, one on the other’s lap, arms slung sultrily over his shoulders. “Oh, fuck, now I’ve lost track of which of you is which.”

“That could be fun,” one of the Indrids mused as Duck dried his hands. 

The Indrid on the bottom stood up, holding the other one bridal-style for a moment before letting him slip to the ground. “I’d really like to kiss you, if that’s alright,” said one of them. Young Indrid, Duck guessed as he moved forward to kiss him. And oh, that was strange, because he knew this mouth, recognized the taste of it and the sharpness of the teeth, but this wasn’t _his_ Indrid, didn’t know him the same way.

“Carry me to bed, Prince Charming?”

Young Indrid lifted him effortlessly, which was something Duck would never get tired of, feeling small and light for once in his life. “Prince Charming?”

Old Indrid said something in the native tongue of the Sylphs, mandible-clicking sounds that Duck’s ears could not parse. “That’s the closest equivalent, anyway.”

“Oh,” said young Indrid, looking down at Duck in his arms. “Thank you.”

Duck craned his neck up to kiss him some more, conscious of the other Indrid’s gaze on his back. Then young Indrid carried him into the bedroom, lowered him gently onto the bed, and climbed up after him to kneel between his legs. His upper hands stroked Duck’s hair affectionately, his lower ones touched the waistband of his pants. “May I?”

“Uh-huh,” said Duck, fiddling with his belt buckle, and wriggled out of his pants. He could see old Indrid leaning against the doorframe, grinning. 

“ _Wow,_ ” said young Indrid. “You’re… wow.” He stroked his hands down the inside of Duck’s broad thighs, touched the sensitive undersides of his knees and his calves down to his feet. This was Indrid seeing him like this for the first time, Indrid new to humanity and seemingly awestruck. Duck was pretty sure he’d just set a personal record for how fast his underwear had soaked through.

“Wow,” said old Indrid. “It’s like really, really good porn. Um. I. Duck, can I - maybe you could put your head in my lap?”

“Yes please,” said Duck, already reaching for him. Old Indrid got onto the bed and crossed his legs, letting Duck get comfortable against him, one pair of hands holding Duck’s and the other stroking his hair. Duck got so caught up in looking up at him he almost didn’t notice young Indrid fully on top of him, undoing the buttons of his shirt, until he felt a cool hand on his bare chest. 

Two Indrids was already deliciously overwhelming.

“Would it be weird if I, um, directed you a little bit?” said old Indrid.

“Takes the pressure off me,” said Duck. Young Indrid nodded. 

“And. Um. Me? Young me? Jesus Christ, I don’t know what to call you. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I remember what you’re into, but just… let me know?”

“Yes, you can be mean,” said young Indrid, and stretched out a hand to squeeze one of old Indrid’s for a moment before he settled back between Duck’s thighs. 

“Are you going to do your job properly, then?” said old Indrid.

“Uh-huh.” Young Indrid looked back down at Duck. “May I take your underwear off?”

“Yeah, fuck, yeah,” groaned Duck, and lifted his hips obligingly. 

If old Indrid hadn’t been holding his upper body in place, Duck would have jerked hard when young Indrid’s mouth closed over him. His tongue was different than a human’s would be, smoother, but familiar to Duck by now. What wasn’t familiar was Indrid’s hesitance, his teasing seemingly unintentional. And the hint of mandible that made Duck squeak. 

Young Indrid pulled back. “Sorry.”

“Tilt your mandibles so the sharp edge is in,” said old Indrid. “And keep an eye on the futures.”

Young Indrid bent his head again and Duck closed his eyes, relaxing into the sensation of Indrid stroking his hair, Indrid’s fingers between his, and Indrid’s warm, wet mouth and smooth tongue. 

“Not that low!” said Duck. 

“So from here -” Indrid put one finger at the base of the labia, another just above the clitoris “- to here?”

“Essentially,” said Duck. His Indrid had already been practiced at this the first time they’d done it. When had he learned, if this Indrid hadn’t yet? Duck put the thought out of his head. “If you’re careful with the claws you can use your hands.”

“Very careful,” added old Indrid. He stroked Duck’s hair, perfectly calm and put-together. “Such lovely noises you make, Duck.” Young Indrid hummed his agreement, and found the perfect rhythm with his fingers to make Duck gasp. “So many things the two of us could do with you,” old Indrid mused. “Make good use of your Chosen durability.”

Duck ground shamelessly against young Indrid’s tongue, chasing his release. He imagined himself on his hands and knees, the Indrids fucking him from both ends, felt Indrid’s claws digging into his hip, and came shuddering. 

Young Indrid licked undaunted through Duck’s orgasm, until Duck, oversensitive, finally pushed him away. “Alright, alright, you did good, Christ, Indrid.” Indrid looked like he was the one who’d just had his mind blown, with a somewhat dopey smile and his whole lower face shiny. Duck rolled over to catch his breath, and young Indrid crawled up the bed where he’d been, almost into old Indrid’s lap. 

“You want me, as well?” Old Indrid sounded almost surprised.

“It seems rude not to thank you for your kind advice,” young Indrid purred. 

“We always were insatiable.” Old Indrid buried his hand in the thick fluff at his younger self’s neck and yanked him upwards, more roughly than Duck would have ever dared, and kissed him hard. Their mandibles clicked together. “I want you to fuck me, I haven’t really been filled in too long. And you’ll do a good job?” 

“I will,” young Indrid promised, clinging to him with both pairs of spindly hands.

Old Indrid took hold of his chin and tilted it up patronizingly. “You won’t shoot off instantly like a teenager?” Young Indrid whimpered. “Not to flatter myself too much, but I think you will. We never last long, do we?”

“Not in that sense.” And then young Indrid was pushing him down onto his back with a knee to the chest and they were grinding on each other, two identical cocks half-emerged, the needy little chirps Duck had gotten used to times two. 

“Someone’s eager,” teased old Indrid as young Indrid scissored two fingers into his slit. 

“Yeah, like you mind. You’re a whore, aren’t you?”

Something about that made old Indrid buck his hips up. “Not anymore I’m not,” he said breathlessly. “But I was at one time, yes, you’d be surprised how many courtiers aren’t too stately to bend you over if you allow them to. And once I got here, oh...”

“Filthy slut, sullying our family name.”

Old Indrid moaned. “Yes, please, tell me-”

“What a disgrace you are? Our father would be turning in his grave if he could see you now.” Young Indrid pushed in, inch by inch until old Indrid had taken all of him. “You were supposed to be great, scion. But I suppose at least now you’ve found what you’re good for, being a hole to fuck.”

And then there were only strange high-pitched moth noises, claws dragging across chitin and delicate wing. Duck felt like a voyeur to something more intimate than sex. 

“Are you so debased you’d allow me to defile your feathers?” young Indrid managed to get out in between thrusts.

“Yes, _please,”_ said old Indrid, and he’d hardly said it when young Indrid pulled out and stroked himself to completion, spilling down one of old Indrid’s wings and then dragging his fingers through his own spend, smearing it across the feathers. Old Indrid squirmed and whined, still hard, gapingly empty now. 

After a moment young Indrid’s touch turned gentle, stroking over the sensitive inner wing. “How do you want to get off?”

“Your mouth?” said old Indrid in a small voice.

“Of course.” Young Indrid moved down his body again to settle between his legs. “I’ve always wished I was flexible enough to suck my own dick,” he joked, before licking across old Indrid’s slit and then up his cock. 

Duck had never actually seen Indrid suck a dick before, but young Indrid seemed to have no gag reflex at all, taking all of old Indrid’s cock into his mouth with no trouble. Duck knew from experience what an achievement _that_ was, but he didn’t have much time to consider it.

“Duck,” said old Indrid, reaching out for him, pulling him down almost on top of him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Duck held him back just as tightly, kissed him as his hips bucked against the other Indrid’s mouth, held him close enough to feel every tiny noise he made and the way he tensed just before he came. 

Young Indrid swallowed every drop and slowly pulled off, leaving old Indrid’s cock shiny with his spit. He touched old Indrid’s thigh gently. “I’ll be right back.” And then he was gone, and old Indrid curled up into himself, up against Duck.

“Hey,” said Duck softly.

“I’m alright,” said old Indrid. “You were going to ask.” 

Duck nodded, but did not let go. He heard a sink somewhere in the house running, and then silence, and then young Indrid was back with all four hands full: two glasses of eggnog, one of water, and a damp washcloth. 

Old Indrid sat up to take a glass of eggnog, and Duck accepted the water. 

“Do you want to do it, or can I?” said young Indrid.

Old Indrid looked up at him and stuck out one wing. Young Indrid knelt on the bed, kissed the joint of the wing, and began to clean the feathers he’d just sullied. Watching him, Duck thought he finally understood why moth-people had claws in the first place: they made more sense for grooming than for combat or predation. 

“How are you feeling, Duck?” said young Indrid after a while.

“Good. Tired. Might have to take a nap.”

“Mhm.” He finished cleaning old Indrid’s wings, dumped the damp washcloth on the bedside table, and lay down on the bed. “I guess now you’ve had both of us, you can’t differentiate anymore by calling him your Indrid.”

“You’re the Indrid who has to remember to wake us up in time to fight the abomination,” said old Indrid. He reached over to turn off the light on the bedside table, hidden for a moment behind his wings, and then lay down as well.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And you should learn to respect your elders.”

Young Indrid laughed, light and carefree. “Sure, grandpa.” For a while they lay together in silence, and Duck had almost drifted off when young Indrid spoke again. “I see now what you meant about disasters being harder to stop in this world than on Silvain.”

“Yes,” said old Indrid.

“But I don’t think it’d be impossible.” He paused, went on when old Indrid didn't reply. “Yes, the existing power structure for a seer isn’t in place, but it would only be a matter of time to construct it. You could do it.”

Old Indrid let out a rattling sigh, the kind of noise you’d expect from a battered, three-hundred-year-old insect. “Later. We can talk about this later.”

It took Duck a long time to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway so this happened. hit me up on tumblr @ bellafarallones


End file.
